A huntsman spider has been living on the roof in our hallway for the past five days. Shy at first, it stayed close to the curves of the plasterwork before moving out more openly near the light-bulb. The cat first noticed it at this point, and there she’s sat ever since, meowing at it; I wonder if she’s coaxing it down or just bemoaning the intrusion of her space.
And thanks to the cat’s preoccupation, the children have also noticed the spider. They steel their nerves and, ducking, cover their skulls with their hands to walk past. My assurances (“It’s been there for days and has done nothing!”) matter little and my defence of the creature (“No, I am not getting the fly-spray. No, I am not going to kill it”) may soon come to an end, simply because I am tired of constantly being made aware of its presence. An appointment with a Tupperware container and a piece of paper may be in its near future so relocation may occur.
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This blog has long been a source of comfort for me, like a touchstone you might keep in your pocket, to reach for and stroke as needed. Yet it is more, also. Or at least it could be. Like the spider that sits above, I sit below and mew at times at my own ambitions and failings. This blog was also supposed to be a document for the children if – and touch wood, etc. etc. – I should ever die suddenly or unexpectedly. It was my hope that if I kept it honestly and regularly they might get a sense of the kind of woman that I am; except there’s a problem: I still don’t know, I’m still unsure, I’m still the anxious mess I’ve always been. Sometimes I wonder if the old me, starting back in 2006, would approve of the direction it’s taken or if all I’ve managed to do is cultivate a narrative that’s spiced with the random agonies of motherhood?
One might ask – and I have, recently, as I’ve been reading more blogs than ever before – just why we keep blogging. Is it really to serve our art? Or our art as ourselves? We are the end product towards which we’ve been working? It certainly seems like that sometimes, at least those of us who blog on personal matters and feelings.
So does blogging really help us become more self-aware as has been suggested (as indeed I’ve suggested at times)? I can’t be too sure – not at least during the spells I go through when I sit and stare at the spider on the roof.
{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
We blog to share our thoughts and read…and follow others who we get to know.
I find, especially lately, that my blog is not my way of expressing my inner thoughts and feelings because to do so would involve other people and I don’t think it’s fair to drag them into my blog especially when they might not know it exists. And my son’s getting older and more aware so it’s probably not fair to keep writing about him like I have.
I think my blog is in transition which is why I haven’t been writing on it much but I don’t know what it’s transitioning to.
I’m not ready to give up my blog, and I hope you don’t either.
I think it’s no different than journalling, which people have been doing for all time.
As Jen says though it’s hard if your audience are your close family and friends as it means a lot cannot be said. Whereas in a private journal you may pour your heart out, on the blog you have to speak in riddles!
I do wonder why I bother with blogging. I’m not sure I’d want my husband or my kids to read my blog. Then again I’m not quite ready to give mine up.
It seems that each blogger has different reasons, and depends on the direction their blog takes. I’ve only just started my blog, and for me it gives me the opportunity to stop and reflect on things in my life, rather than them just happening and then me streaking past them to the next thing. I too blog for my children, as well as myself, to have a record of all the little things that happen that make our life what it is, yet would otherwise be forgotten in years to come. I don’t know who I am or who I am supposed to be, but that is what life is about. Not being the ‘perfect’ person we think we should be, but experiencing life and evolving ourselves. Maybe when I one day look back at my blog, I will see all the different aspects of myself that make up who I am as a wonderful thing, rather than the feeling I have now that these various aspects make me feel fragmented. Nothing like a D & M on a tired Friday with someone I only know through the computer!
I find the reasons change over time. I started blogging nine years ago for a whole heaps of different reasons to those that spur me on now. The reasons behind my blogging have changed consistently as my circumstances have changed, and it meets different needs, but the blog goes on. Just different
A couple of comments: Jen, thank you.We’ve been around the traps for a while now, the both of us, eh? You keep going, too
SS – No, don’t give up on it. Persistance!
Leiani – Fridays are great for D&Ms. I used to do this kind of “what’s it all about?!” over a few drinks after work
Faith – yes, I must look at it like that. Different. Different is good. Different may well even be better.
JLP – Oh, JLP. One of my oldest pals x
I’m new to blogging, but I think the reason I started is to try to ’share the experience’ somehow. I know a few new or expecting mothers, and I’ve seen otherwise confident and self-assured women start to second guess themselves when it comes to motherhood and ‘the right way’ to raise their children. I don’t claim to have answers, but I think it helps to hear the experiences of others and know that you aren’t the only one dealing with *insert parental dilemma here*.
So my little message of encouragement for all bloggers – keep it up, every bit helps.